Don't Say You Love Me
by Etaleah
Summary: After hearing Sam speak of his love back home, Frodo spent the rest of his life in Middle-earth wishing he had been allowed to pass away peacefully on Mount Doom.


" _Rosie Cotton. If ever I was to marry someone, it would have been her."_ Well, there it was. If Frodo hadn't been ready to die before, he was now. He put his arm around Sam and tried to hold back his tears. Fortunately if they fell, he could simply pass them off as sweat from the oppressive heat around them, or claim they were happening because of the situation they were in and not because of what Sam had just said.

" _I am glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee. Here at the end of all things."_ And he was. As he lay back and images of the Shire ran through his mind, he was glad to be dying with Sam. They had done what they set out to do, and neither had the strength to go any further, even if it were possible. It was better to simply accept what fate had decided for them and die quietly together. Frodo closed his eyes and relaxed, looking forward to the moment when he would no longer feel the sharp pain in his belly that had been empty for so long, the dryness of his parched throat, the break in his spirit that the ring had caused, or the ache in every sore muscle and bone in his body.

Or the knot in his chest that had grown tighter and tighter over the past few weeks with Sam and was now threatening to constrict him completely. Because even after all the time they'd spent together, it wasn't Frodo that Sam was thinking of in his last moments.

The fire was rising high now. Frodo opened his eyes to slits and squinted at something in the distance. It looked like there was something huge and brown in the sky, maybe some sort of bird or odd-looking Nazgul. He looked away. Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

A few seconds later, as the air around him grew hotter and hotter, he could hear wings flapping. Was the creature coming toward him? He looked back and if he'd had any energy, he would have sat up and scrambled out of the way, for the creature was directly above him and coming closer with its talons outstretched. Frodo started shaking as they closed around him, gripping his body firmly.

"No," Frodo whimpered, but it was too late. The next thing he knew, there was nothing beneath him but air. A mass of feathers to the side told him Sam was being carried off too, and though he was relieved that his love wasn't being left behind to die alone, Frodo dearly wished he himself could have been left on the slab of rock. The height was making him dizzy and he wasn't sure how long the eagle could hold him before it would grow tired and drop him. A part of him hoped it would.

But it didn't. Just before he passed out, Frodo could see a camp full of men, where the eagles were undoubtedly planning to leave him as they began to descend.

 _It's not fair,_ he thought as he shut his eyes tight. _I was ready. I wanted to go._

* * *

The food was delicious, the drinks were fresh, the flowers were beautiful, and the people were merry, but aside from Mordor there was no place in Middle-earth Frodo wanted to be less than Aragorn and Lady Arwen's wedding. The two of them were swirling around the dance floor with eyes only for each other, as were Éowyn and Faramir, and even Merry and Pippin had charmed a few women into dancing with them. It was too noisy, too bright after being in the dark for so long, and too many crowds of too many people, all of whom towered over him and expected him to put on a smile and be happy when he had completely forgotten how.

But even all that wasn't as bad as what was happening next to him.

"You just wait, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, pouring himself some ale. "I'm gonna propose to Rosie as soon as we're home. Just you wait. I'm gonna make sure of it this time. No more excuses." He sat back and took a sip. "Can't hardly wait. I can just see her now, dancing with her long hair in the breeze." He looked off into the sky, and there was no doubt in his eyes that he was in love.

"That's wonderful, Sam." Frodo could hear the hollowness in his voice and knew Sam could hear it too, so before his friend could comment, he quickly said, "I'm tired. I think I shall go to bed now." And he hurried off to the hobbit chambers before Sam could reply.

* * *

Frodo knew it made absolutely no sense in the world for him to feel lonely. Every long hour spent at the wedding had been filled with him wishing he could get away from all the people and be alone, and after Bilbo had left he had spent seventeen years by himself with no problem. Yet here he stood, in his own home in Bag End after helping to drive out the evil within the Shire, and still he longed for company.

Merry and Pippin had returned to their homes the other day and of course the rest of the Fellowship had gone their separate ways long ago. And Sam- Frodo swallowed hard and felt a terrible ache in his chest- Sam was spending all his time with Rosie and her family. After spending months with only Sam (he no longer counted Gollum as true company), it seemed Frodo had forgotten how to live without him. He looked around at his empty house. Had it always been this big? It was still cluttered with Bilbo's old notes, which Frodo had been attempting to organize into a book as a way of keeping himself busy. But there were some parts of the story that were terribly hard to write about.

His treatment of Sam when he was recused from Cirith Ungol, when he thought Sam wanted the ring for himself. His treachery at the end, when he refused to destroy the ring while standing just over the fire. Him selfishly taking all of Sam's food and water without even thinking about what Sam would eat or drink. And worst of all, Sam _carrying_ him up the mountainside even though he was surely just as tired and weak.

 _It's no wonder he doesn't love me._

Frodo walked aimlessly through the house until he came to the looking glass, where he paused. Although Aragorn had fed him well and tried to fatten him up a bit, there was no hiding the fact that he had gotten extremely thin and his clothes were hanging off him and his bones were visible. His hair had been falling out lately so that it was thinning too, partly from the stress of all that had happened and partly because now that the ring was gone, age was catching up to Frodo fast. His face and forehead were lined with worry and sadness, and his eyes were dull and red from crying all the time. His hand looked horribly mutated and deformed with the finger gone.

 _I'm ugly._

He thought of Rosie, who was plump in a motherly way and filled her clothes nicely like a hobbit should. She had a head full of hair and all ten fingers and her cheeks were bright and pink instead of pale and sunken and bony. She was young and looked it. And best of all, she was a lass. She had lovely soft breasts and curves that made her dresses hug her while her skirts flared around her beautiful legs.

Frodo was surprised at how this comforted him. It was much easier to think Sam preferred Rosie for her looks, rather than because she hadn't betrayed him time and again on a perilous journey that Sam should never have had to make and wouldn't have had to make if it weren't for Frodo. He was always going on about how beautiful she was, so maybe that was it. Frodo moved listlessly toward Bilbo's old ale collection and told himself over and over that Sam loved Rosie for her beauty.

 _Just her beauty,_ he thought as he poured himself a tall glass. _Nothing more._

* * *

Sam was whistling cheerfully as he trotted up the hill of Bag End toward Frodo's house with his master's coat slung over his shoulder. "Ain't like Mr. Frodo to forget about this," he said to himself. "But then I suppose he's got a lot on his mind. Been a bit quiet lately." He was pleased to see that the lights were on in the house and he wouldn't have to wake Mr. Frodo up.

He knocked on the door. "Master Frodo! It's your Sam." He waited a few seconds and was surprised when the door didn't open. He tried knocking a bit louder in case Mr. Frodo hadn't heard. Maybe he had fallen asleep and had forgotten to turn the lights off.

The door swung open with Mr. Frodo leaning on it. Sam stepped back, withholding a gasp. Mr. Frodo's eyes were so red there was almost no blue or white left and his head was lolling back and forth.

"Mr. Frodo? You all right, sir?" Sam asked, reaching out to prop him up.

Frodo swatted his hand. "Go 'way," he mumbled, and his voice was slurred.

Sam was torn between obeying his master's command and making sure he was okay. He looked inside and sure enough, there was an empty ale bottle standing on the table, one he knew had been full just yesterday, having polished it himself.

"Master, you didn't drink that whole bottle all at once, did you?"

Frodo hiccupped. "So wha?" He started to stumble and Sam caught him. "You need to go to bed, sir."

Frodo twisted away, stumbling into the house. "Jus' go home to Rosie and leave me alone! You love her more anyway."

Sam stood rigidly still at the pain in Frodo's voice when he said this. "Master, that ain't true." He stepped inside and closed the door so none of the neighbors would see. "It isn't, honest!"

"'S'okay Sam," Frodo said, dropping onto the couch. "I understand. I'm old and ugly and I don't expect you to love me anyway."

"Please sir, stop talkin' like that!" Sam pleaded, dropping the coat and hurrying to his master's side. He took his hand and squeezed it. "I do love you, I promise. You're beautiful and I love you as much as I ever did."

Frodo shook his head slowly. "No. You love Rosie." He sniffed as tears gathered in his eyes. "You don't love me, you love _Rosie."_

Sam turned his face so they were looking into each other's eyes. "Now that ain't right, Mr. Frodo. You're talkin' like my love is limited to a certain amount, like food or water. But it isn't. Me loving Rosie doesn't mean I don't have any love left for you."

Frodo laughed bitterly and pulled himself up. "Then what do I need to do, Sam?" He stumbled to a trunk in a corner and pulled out a dress. "This was my mum's, but I can wear it for you. Is that what you want, Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "Master Frodo, I don't understand-"

"I can do my hair like hers too!" Frodo grabbed his hair and pulled it so it framed his cheeks like Rosie's did hers. "I can grow my hair out nice and pretty and wear it just like hers." He held up the dress. "I can wear a dress and have long hair and I think there are some queer plants that are 'spose to give bosoms to lads. I can have bosoms too, Sam!" He laughed. "Then I'll be perfect for you. I'll look just like her and we can-"

"Master Frodo, _stop!_ " Sam screamed, tears running down his face. He sobbed and shook his head. "You're not yourself." Trying to calm himself, he took the dress from Frodo and set it aside, then put his hands on his master's shoulders. "Please sir, let's just get you to bed so you can sleep this off."

He succeeded in getting Frodo to his bedroom before the older hobbit turned to him and his face crumpled. "You're angry with me."

Sam sniffed. "No I'm not. I'm just worried about you. You need to get some rest."

"Oh Sam, I hurt you _again_!" Frodo cried, and threw his arms around his friend. "I'm so sorry Sam. Sorry sorry sorry sorry…" He buried his face in Sam's chest and Sam hugged him, trying to reassure him that no, he wasn't hurt, Frodo just wasn't himself, but it all fell on deaf ears. Eventually he felt his master's body grow limp and he was able to tuck him into bed and try to wipe away both of their tears.

* * *

Frodo woke up the next morning with the worst headache he could ever remember having. His merriest nights at the Green Dragon hadn't been half this bad. It was pounding so hard he could barely see straight, but unfortunately he could think and remember perfectly.

He moaned as the events of last night came back to him, and Sam woke up beside him. "Morning, Master. You must not be feeling too well." He got up and fetched a pain draught Frodo had kept on hand and a cold, wet cloth, which he placed over Frodo's forehead. As soon as he'd gotten the medicine down, Sam sat beside him and stroked his hair. "Feel up to eating anything? If nothing else, you should probably have some water."

"Sam." Frodo shut his eyes tight and Sam hoped he wasn't about to start weeping again. Fortunately his voice remained steady. "I am deeply, incredibly sorry about the things I said to you last night."

"You were just a little drunk, sir, it's all right-"

"No it isn't," Frodo insisted. He opened his eyes. "I acted horribly selfish toward you, Sam. It was cruel of me to imply that your love for Rosie was shallow and to try and force you to choose between us."

"I know you didn't mean it," Sam assured him.

Frodo couldn't bear to tell Sam that he had meant it. For Sam he would have gladly worn a dress every day for the rest of his life. He would change his name, grow out his hair, and act like a lass in every sense of the word if it was what Sam wanted. But he couldn't tell him that. And he couldn't tell Sam how good his hand felt in his hair and how comforting his presence was. He couldn't tell him how badly he wanted to pull him down on top of him and hug him close and kiss him over and over and never let him go, and that even though Sam was right there, Frodo ached for him.

"All the same," he finally said, closing his eyes. "I understand if you would prefer not to have me at your wedding anymore."

Sam's hand stilled. When he didn't say anything, Frodo opened his eyes and was shocked to see Sam with his mouth agape and his eyes shiny. "How can you say that, sir?" he asked. "Of course I want you there! I wouldn't even think of keeping you out."

Frodo gave a watery smile. "Thank you. That's nice to know." He rested quietly for a bit and then noticed that Sam still looked hurt.

"Master Frodo," Sam said. "Are you trying to tell me that- that you don't _want_ to come to my wedding?"

The way he said it, like his very heart had been broken, made Frodo lose control and begin to cry again. "Oh Sam, I do want to go, I promise! I just-" He swallowed hard to try and keep back the sobs. "It's just going to be hard, Sam. It's going to be really hard to see you love someone else."

Sam shook his head. "Master Frodo, I do love you-"

"Don't say that!" Frodo cried. He sobbed and his head felt like it would burst open. "Please Sam, don't say you love me. Say that you're fond of me, that you care for me, but don't ever say that you love me. I can't bear to hear it and know you don't mean it the way I want you to."

Sam grabbed Frodo's hand and stroked it, and when Frodo had calmed down, he spoke. "If you don't want to come, I sure can't make you. But I want you there more than anyone else." He got off the bed and kissed Frodo's temple before leaving.

"Get some rest and feel better," he said, and shut the door, leaving Frodo with a wound worse than anything a wraith could give him.

* * *

Like most hobbit-grooms, Sam spent a good deal of his wedding being nervous. But unlike most hobbit-grooms, he wasn't nervous about getting married. He kept his eyes on Mr. Frodo until it was time for the ceremony. He was relieved that his master was here, but afraid he might have drunk himself silly again.

But as it turned out, Mr. Frodo seemed happier for him than Sam could have thought possible. He clapped, he smiled. Even when Sam kissed his bride and carried her across the threshold, Frodo looked as thrilled as anyone else, and though he was looking at a distance, Sam could see nothing in his eyes that said otherwise.

Rosie, who knew nothing about what had happened, at one point asked Frodo to dance, and he politely obliged her. Sam watched them closely the whole time, but the conversation between them was limited mostly to the weather and what sort of flowers Rosie had chosen for the decorations. The only oddity Sam could tell was that he kept fingering the pendant given to him by the elves. Otherwise, Frodo seemed so normal that Sam was beginning to wonder if he had dreamt the drunken episode.

 _Or maybe ale was ale,_ Sam thought. _Maybe Mr. Frodo never really meant all those things he said, and the drink was making him talk all queer._ Or maybe he had overcome his feelings. Maybe he no longer felt anything for Sam besides friendship.

But just to be sure, when they parted late that night, Sam did not tell Frodo he loved him.

* * *

Frodo barely left his home after that. He threw himself into finishing the book and did not allow himself to think of anything else. He wrote and rewrote and edited until it was perfect. He weathered through his illnesses as best he could, and refrained from speaking much to anyone outside his family. He'd had many other friends in the Shire before leaving it, but he no longer felt any interest in them.

For a few years, this worked out fine. Though he'd been an emotional mess after the wedding and when Elanor was born, he had been able to distract himself sufficiently until the book was finished. As long as he was writing, he wasn't thinking of Sam. But once it was finished, Frodo no longer felt useful. All the other members of the Fellowship were starting families and cultivating relationships between races, and here he was just sitting around taking up space.

It was a relief when he answered a knock on the door and encountered a strange man on horseback.

"I am a messenger sent by Gandalf the White. You are Mr. Baggins?"

"Yes."

"Gandalf has asked me to pass along this letter from the elves." He handed a long slip of parchment to Frodo and stood there patiently while the hobbit read it. When he had finished, the man spoke again. "Of course, he does not expect you to decide right away. He's given you three months to send him your answer."

Frodo looked the man in the eye. "He can have it now. My answer is yes."


End file.
